


The Tale of the Tantalizing Tool Belt

by orphan_account



Series: Sides of a Triangle [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP, handyman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt.  <i>"Sherlock breaks something in 221B.  He moans about it like 'guess what my crazy flatmate has done now' to Lestrade.  John later comes home to find Lestrade wearing a toolbelt and fixing that furniture like a pro. Hello, kink he never knew he had! BAM, sex."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of the Tantalizing Tool Belt

**Author's Note:**

> *Fidgets nervously*
> 
> I am bad at writing smut.  Yet I insist on trying to write it anyway.  The only reason this is fit for veiwing is because of the wonderful [](http://impishtubist.livejournal.com/profile)[ **impishtubist**](http://impishtubist.livejournal.com/)  agreed to the daunting task of being my beta.  Anything good/sexy is probably because of her.
> 
> Let's go ahead and say this is after _Broken and Fixed_ , what with them not using a condom.  Also, tis a fill for [this](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/10852.html?thread=53190756) prompt.
> 
> And now, the PWP *hides under shock blanket in shame*  
> 

“I hate him,” John muttered into Greg’s shoulder as he tried not to fall asleep standing up whilst the recipient of his ire flounced around the crime scene.

“What’s he done now, then?” Greg asked, wrapping his arm around John and tucking the doctor against his chest.

“Kept me up half the night with banging and slamming doors. Then I come downstairs this morning to discover that he’s dismantled the cabinet and ‘deleted’ where he put everything. I managed to find the missing dishes in the linen closet, but there really isn’t any room for them. He’s refusing to fix it because he’s got a case on now, and I can’t do it because I’m pulling double duty today. I just…he’s so…gah!”  John finished, letting his head fall forward onto Greg’s chest with no little force to try and relieve some of his frustration. It didn’t work.  

  


They stood like that for a while, just enjoying a silent, still moment together – they were few and far between, and the two had learned to relish the moments wherever and whenever they could find them. 

  


It didn’t last long; John’s cellphone alarm rang and the doctor groaned.

“I have to go to work. Dinner tomorrow?” John asked, pulling away reluctantly.

“Take-away at my place?” Greg asked.

“Sounds perfect,” John said, leaning up for a quick kiss. “See you then, yeah?”

Greg pressed his lips against John’s for a much briefer period then either of them would have liked before releasing the doctor. “It’s a date,” he told John before the man turned away. “Shut it!” he shouted at his wolf-whistling team as John left the scene chuckling.  
 

  


More hours than he liked later, but sooner than he had hoped, John found himself trudging up the stairs of 221B. He pushed open the door, looking forward to a nice soak in the shower followed by some time spent doing absolutely nothing before he spent the night cuddling on the sofa with his boyfriend, hopefully followed by some slow, sweet, lazy sex.

All those plans were completely derailed when he saw what was waiting in his kitchen.

It was the noise that prompted him to investigate. John followed the banging noise to its source, fearing that he would discover Sherlock in the midst of yet another destructive episode. Instead, he found Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade kneeling on the countertop. Greg was in jeans that clung to his arse in a quite spectacular fashion, a checkered button-up tight around his shoulders and sleeves rolled far enough up to hint at the biceps beneath.

What captivated John’s attention most, however, was the tool belt slung around his waist, clearly well worn, and the hammer wielded confidently in one hand.

John wasn’t sure exactly what sort of noise escaped him as he continued to study the rather tantalizing sight of his boyfriend being very, very handy, but apparently it was enough to alert Greg of his presence.

Greg glanced over his shoulder, smiling when he saw John frozen in the doorway. He put down the hammer and hopped off the counter. “I thought you wouldn’t be back until…mmph!”

John shoved Greg up against the wall, pressing his lips forcefully against the DI’s. Greg opened his mouth eagerly, letting John slip his tongue into the warm, familiar, wet space. Greg’s tool belt pressed against John’s thighs only serving to remind him of exactly why they were in this situation.

Greg reached a hand between them, pressing down on John’s erection through the rough denim of his jeans, making John bite his lip to keep from swearing.

“Is this for me?” Greg asked cheekily, rubbing the bulge in a way that made John hiss. “Not that I’m complaining,” he said, pulling John’s hand down to his own erection, “far from it. But what brought this on?” The DI licked a stripe along John’s neck, the spot he knew made John’s knees go weak. “Because I’d like to know what exactly I have to do to merit a repeat performance.”

John, at this point too far gone to be embarrassed, raised his hand from Greg’s crotch to tug at the belt slung low around Lestrade’s waist.  “You are a very, very handy man. And really fucking hot while doing it.”

  


“Is that what this is?” Greg asked, laughing against John’s neck. His breath was warm and something about the gesture felt intimate.

“Shut up,” John muttered, making quick work of the buttons on Greg’s shirt so he could run his fingers through the patch of dark brown curls smattered with silver. John liked the way they felt, and loved the reminder of exactly who he was dealing with. The way Greg’s eyes tended to roll back in his head when he did it didn’t exactly hurt either.

Greg pushed his hands aside long enough to divest John of his jumper before sliding his hands under the plain cotton tee John wore underneath, tweaking John’s nipples.

“Bedroom?” Greg asked, smiling in the cheeky, sinful way John had learned meant he was going to suggest something that was almost always met with an enthusiastic _oh, God, yes_. “Or the table?”

John knew which one he liked the sound of. This had somehow turned into a quick and dirty fuck, and the table frankly sounded like the perfect venue. Unfortunately, practical matters took precedence.

“There’s no lubricant on the table,” John pointed out breathlessly as Greg undid his zip with a quick tug.

The older man ignored him, ridding John of all his clothing from the waist down before gripping him by the hips and tugging him backwards.  John’s hands found their way to Greg’s arse of their own volition, kneading the firm flesh beneath his fingers Greg’s hips connected with the table, which he easily jumped up onto.

Greg pulled a small bottle out of one of the rear pockets of his belt, flicking it open with a smug grin.

“Why on earth have you got lube in one of those pockets?” John demanded raggedly as he struggled to work Greg’s trousers and pants far enough down for what he was planning.

“Well,” Greg smirked as he applied a small squirt of the gel to John’s hand before leaning back and raising his hips, “it is a _tool_ belt.”

John groaned at the abysmal joke, fighting the urge to slap a hand to his face – a bad idea, unless he wanted an eyeful of lube. He settled for slowly swirling his index and middle finger around Greg’s hole, enjoying the small breathless noises the man below him made before slowly pushing his index finger in up to the first knuckle, marveling at the warm, tight muscles wrapped around his finger. He pulled out before pressing in to his second knuckle, doing his best to tease Greg without touching him where he wanted. Slowly pushing in both his index and middle finger, John smirked at the man trying desperately not to wriggle on the table in front of him before leaning over to whisper in his ear.

“If you can still make terrible wisecracks,” John informed Greg before licking along the shell of his ear, enjoying the small shudder that ran through his entire frame, “I am clearly not doing a good enough job.”

At the last words, he spread his fingers apart, stretching Greg open before crooking his fingers to massage Greg’s prostate, smiling in satisfaction at the noise this managed to evoke from his boyfriend.

“Good job. Very good job,” Greg moaned, arching his hips again, the tool belt sliding up slightly and reminding John what exactly had started all this.

John didn’t waste any more time – Sherlock’s habits during a case were the very definition of erratic, and he could be back any minute. The detective would know what had happened as soon as he looked at them, but it was one thing for Sherlock to know and quite another for him to walk in on the two of them while it was occurring.

Coating his cock liberally with slick, John lined himself up, meeting Greg’s eyes and asking silent permission. In answer, Greg hooked a leg around John’s waist, tugging the doctor closer and giving Greg enough leverage to impale himself on John’s cock.. Greg propped himself up on one forearm, pulling John down for another wet filthy kiss whilst using his other hand to guide John’s own to his cock.  
It didn’t last long – it was over almost as soon as it had begun. A few thrusts, a few pulls, and John was biting down into Greg’s shoulder so as not to disturb Mrs. Hudson while Greg arched beneath him, digging his nails into John’s back. The doctor collapsed forward onto his partner’s abdomen, and the Detective Inspector had fallen back onto the table, chest heaving, eyes screwed shut, and covered in sweat.

“Come on,” John said, holding out his hand once his body was behaving properly again, “let’s go to bed.”

“I think I’ll just sleep here, if that’s alright,” Greg murmured weakly at the ceiling.

“What? Did I break you?” John asked, smiling at the exhausted and flushed form before him. When the DI didn’t respond, John became concerned. “Greg? Are you all right?”

“I think,” Greg said slowly, “I might have thrown out my back.”

John really couldn’t help it. He laughed. Greg glared at him as well he could, prone on the table with his shirt unbuttoned and his trousers and pants around his ankles, tool belt still around his waist. It only made John laugh harder, leaning against the counter for support.

“Just look at you!” he worked out through his mirth. “Look at me! God, that was just…utterly ridiculous! We’re too old for this sort of thing,” he finished, smiling widely and trying to catch his breath.

“Yes. Yes we are. As my back was so kind to remind me. Now, if you could find it in your rather alarmingly large heart to help me instead of laughing like a hyena, I would appreciate it, as the whole thing is your fault.”

“My fault?” John asked, walking to the sink to dampen a washcloth. “I wasn’t the one who was being all attractive and arousing while being unbearably sweet by fixing the cabinet my boyfriend had been complaining about,” John teased, cleaning him up and helping him back into his clothing..

There was the sound of a door slamming, followed by the heavy tread of familiar footsteps on the stairs.

The consulting detective stood in the doorway moments later, one eyebrow arched as he took in the scene before him. John stayed where he was, unashamed, watching his flatmate closely. Sherlock’s lip quirked upward momentarily in a small smirk before he tossed John his trousers from where they were piled on the floor.

“John, you really must take better care of your Detective Inspector,” Sherlock drawled. “If you damage him irreparably, I will be very put out, and I shan’t get you another for at least two weeks.”


End file.
